I Tried To Climb Your Steps
by letodian-peony
Summary: She needed to do this to save her brother's life. What she didn't expect were the people she would meet. How will she be able to keep her secret when it drives a wedge between everything she's ever wanted? girl!Kirk because I've never written it before.
1. Deception

_I tried to climb your steps_

* * *

AN: Never thought I'd end up here. But in any case, this idea has been, for the lack of a better word, _plaguing_ me for a while, and I figured I would attempt to do it justice.

Don't know why I've fallen into this boat, but I've seen a few wandering around. So, without further ado, what you have come to read:

* * *

It had been long time since I felt at home in my own house. Every corner I turn seems to try to press me out, and I can't help but feel unwelcomed. Sometimes I think that if my mother were here more often, this would feel more like a home, but she spends as much of her time away from here as she could. Too many ghosts haunt these halls and she can't stay in the house long before succumbing to them.

I wish there was something I could do for her, but I wouldn't know what to do if I was given the chance to try.

Sam had left the house a long time ago. He still lived in the state, but he steered clear of this house, though he was still a dependent on our mother. He used college, and then graduate school, as an excuse to leave without coming back.

It was four days after my twenty-fifth birthday when mom came back. She baked me a cake and we had a small party, but I could see in her eyes that she couldn't wait to leave again. She knew I saw, and again tried to comfort me, telling me it wasn't because of me; something I had thought when I was younger. I still blame myself, though I don't voice that anymore. When a tear escaped my eye, she pulled me into an embrace, her own tears falling, wetting my shirt.

She stayed at home longer than she usually did. It was going on four days when we got the worst news of our lives.

First class mail from the state exclaimed that one son from each family was to be drafted into Starfleet. The message went on to explain the current crisis, the small section about the Kelvin breaking my mother's heart to read. She got up and paced around the kitchen.

Sam was engaged to be married. He met her in his sophomore year and proposed a year later. She was pregnant; something, while my mother didn't approve, she was ecstatic about. Finally having a grandchild might just be what it would take to ground her. God knows I wasn't enough.

She looked at me with broken eyes before leaving the room. I watched her back as she left, my heart sinking in my chest.

My brother had Aurelan, he had his degree, he would have his son. I had nothing. I knew it hurt my mother to see me live my life so haphazardly, so carelessly, but I was never really given the chance to live. I knew I had to take Sam's place.

I knew that I couldn't tell my mother; she would never allow me to do it, even if she wanted to save Sam from his inevitable fate. She never wanted either of us to join Starfleet. She refused to lose someone else to them. But we both knew that she would have no choice but to give Sam to them. Starfleet, as for some age-old tradition, only ever drafted males. There has never been a female draft in all of history. Even if I were to freely enlist to Starfleet as I am, they would still take Sam.

When I was sure mom was asleep, I logged on the computer, and hacking into the state records, changed my birth certificate. No one would ever know except me. So few people in the town knew me, even though I've lived here nearly my entire life.

I travelled a lot after I graduated college. I had a degree, but no desire to utilize it, and I really felt like an outcast. I had gotten into a few scrapes here and there, still sporting the scars and the crooked left pinky to prove it. My mother was far from proud of me. She lost faith in me sometime after I turned eighteen, where I lost all respect for myself. She could never understand why someone as smart as I was could let myself live the way I did, always between partners and fights. I tried to show her how it felt to have grown up second to my brother, stunted in shadow and guilt. I tried to show her, but she couldn't see. And she never spent enough time at home to see what was happening to me, to try to fix me, to even care.

She didn't see me anymore when she looked at me. She tried to see the same little child, brilliant and happy, but I had lost that child a long time ago. I had lost my innocence and my ability to be happy, and have since lived my life without direction.

I went to my room and packed everything I could fit into my one duffel bag; the few items of clothing I owned, the seven paperback books that had been in my father's collection, several P.A.D.D.'s, and I left the house.

I took my bike and walked it about a mile from home before hopping in it and heading into town, clutching the Draft Order tightly in my fist. I found the address of the compound to which I would report early tomorrow, admiring the large Starship under construction in the field, bulky and nearly unrecognizable. I departed soon thereafter, finding a rundown motel barely half a mile off.

Once in my room, I ran a knife through my hair, shearing it. I paused to look at the golden strands strewn on the floor before gathering them up and dumping them into the trash can in the bathroom. I looked at myself in the mirror then, and my heart jumped. I realized that my plan hitched on whether I could pass for a man, on whether I can pass for a 'James Tiberius Kirk.'

The person staring back at me from the mirror was a broken woman.

I wiped the tears from my eyes and headed back into the room, pulling a handmade corset from the bag I had packed. I laced the back up, pulling it over my chest, which I had previously bandaged. It took a bit of flexibility and ingenuity to pull the strings taut, but after an hour's diligent work, I managed it, and pulling a shirt on, I admired myself in the bathroom mirror again, seeing the desired effect.

I collapsed onto my bed after that, staring down at my hands. They were calloused and worn from farm work and fighting. I knew that I could probably pull this off. My voice wasn't high pitched enough to be recognizably female. Just short of walking around naked, I would be able to keep my secret.

Suddenly my heart raced.

A physical.

If that were required, I would be compromised. I would end up in jail, to my mother's disgrace, and Sam would be drafted. I sighed and brought my shaking hand to my face. What was I going to do?

I didn't come this far to lose. And this wasn't a no-win scenario. There was no such thing. I would find a way.

I needed to. For the sake of my broken family, I needed to not fail this one time.

I logged on to the terminal in my room and faked an entire physical report, hoping that would give me enough time to think of another plan.

Lying on the bed, I could feel the hours rushing by, and the closer the clock raced to seven, the faster my heart beat. I dragged myself off of the bed at six o'clock in the morning, packing all of my belongings back up and I headed back to the complex, seeing that I wasn't the first person there.

Heading towards an official, I swallowed my nervousness and handed the Draft Order over, watching the man's face as he read through it, no doubt running it through records. He looked up at me, then glanced back down and filed the report away, explaining to me which shuttle I was to get on and any formal procedures for the trip. I merely nodded before heading towards the shuttle. Upon entering, I knocked my head on the low clearance doorway, earning a chuckle from two cadets in the front of the shuttle. I shook off the pain and headed toward an empty seat just in time for a show.

As I struggled with the most difficult seatbelt of my life, a stewardess stepped out from the bathroom with a gruff man in tow who seemed completely displeased with her current course of action.

"You need a doctor-"

"I told you people I don't _need_ a doctor; dammit I _am _a doctor!"

"You need to get back to your seat-"

"I already had one in the bathroom with no windows!"

"You need to get back to your seat _now_-"

"I suffer from _aviaphobia_. Means a fear of dying in something that flies!"

"Sir, for your own safety, sit down or I'll _make_ you sit down!"

After that final threat, he ceded to her, not before staring her down briefly. I couldn't help but smile, though I swallowed my laughter. He collapsed into the seat next to me, pulling half of the seatbelt over one shoulder before turning to me.

"I may throw up on you."

My eyebrows knitted together for a moment, but I laughed. I could get to like this guy.

"I think these things are pretty safe." I said finally, though he was quick with an argument.

"Don't pander to me, kid." He started. "One tiny crack in the hull and our blood boils in thirteen seconds. Solar flare might crop up, cook us in our seats. And wait 'til you're sitting pretty with a case of _Andorian_ shingles. See if you're still so relaxed when you _eyeballs_ are _bleeding_!" His eyes got wide as he said this to me, obviously, he put way too much thought into this. I never once thought about what could go wrong, what the Hell did I care? "Space is a disease and danger wrapped in darkness and silence."

"Well I hate to break this to you, but Starfleet _operates_ in space." I couldn't help but point out, looking at him as if he were slightly insane. He just might be. Or that just might be the 'aviaphobia' acting up.

"Yeah, well. I got nowhere else to go. The ex-wife took the whole damn _planet_ in the divorce. All's I got left is my bones." He finished the confession with a swig from a flask he pulled out of his jacket. It seems like neither one of us really wanted to be here, and neither of us really had a choice. I didn't even think about it before taking the flask when he offered it, more than willing to drive out my mother's voice and the Hellish past I was trying to escape.

"Jim Kirk" I toasted, the name rolling off my tongue as if I'd been saying it my whole life.

"McCoy. Leonard McCoy." He answered as the shuttle took off. As it shook and lifted, I really hoped he wouldn't follow through with his earlier threat.

In the midst of my thought process, I remembered something that could work to my advantage. Leonard was a doctor. If I could trust the Southerner like a felt deep in my chest that I could, I might just be able to depend on him to keep my secret.

Only time would tell.

I locked my eyes to the wall in front of me, my mind drifting off to the rhythmic sound of the shuttle.

* * *

AN: So, there's the start. No, I don't plan on copying dialogue from the whole movie, but how could I resist writing the shuttle scene without Bones' beautiful speech?

Please review with thoughts!


	2. Adaptation

I sighed, throwing my bag into the temporary room I had been assigned for the evening. Looking around, I measured the size to be barely seven and a half foot by seven. I laughed when I recalled that it was two square feet bigger than the room I had left behind in Iowa. The lights were dim and the window was small, but the room seemed to be to be just so dark. It could have been just because this room was the intermediary between myself and the institution my mother had sworn off twenty-five years ago.

I couldn't help but smile sardonically to myself before sitting down heavily on the unforgiving bed.

There really wasn't any going back now.

There was so much that I had to consider.

I had managed to make it through this day without anything going wrong, but it could all just be chalked up to the dim morning light and the grim shuttle. I knew I wouldn't be able to continue on along this way for long before her secret got out. I certainly knew enough, but last night I hadn't had the time to really get everything I needed to make this work.

I sighed again, running my hand through my shorn hair; I would need to fix that later as well. There were a few things I needed to take care of before reporting tomorrow to the Academy at midday, and I really hoped that I had a sufficient amount time to get what I needed. It drove me crazy how complicated this had been made to be. Why did it have to be Iowa that was chosen for the Draft? I slammed my fist against the mattress, letting out a low groan. Nothing could ever be simple for me.

But I would give anything up for my brother, would sacrifice everything to let him have the life he should, with everything he's always deserved and fought so hard to earn. He had the sense to have gotten out, and I always envied him for it. I had never had it easy in all of my life. Some people flourished in hardship, I just couldn't. I always felt tied down, held back. I just never felt like I had a reason to do anything.

Sam had always had mom's blessing, something I never had. He was the oldest; he wasn't the child born on the eve of his father's death. He was the tall, proud son with the drive and ambition to know when it was time to move on. I had never been able to stand tall with the weight on my shoulders; I think I know how Atlas feels, bearing the world on his back for all of eternity. I don't think I'll ever be able to stand up straight.

In spite of it all though, I could never hate my mother or Sam for it.

I just couldn't, and they didn't deserve it.

I set an early alarm and peeled my shirt off, unbinding myself. It didn't even hurt anymore. I couldn't let it hurt. I took a shower, trying to wash the feelings I hated off my skin; my envy, my pain, my sorrow, I tried to force them off with water, wanted them to swirl the drain and get sucked down into the pipes, but no matter how hard I scraped at the skin, it still lingered and I angrily punched the wall, quivering, but trying not to break down.

I stepped out of the shower, but ended up sitting on a towel, leaning against the cold porcelain of the stall. I ran my fingers through the knots in my short hair, pulling the strands apart, trying to distract myself.

I was afraid of what would happen next, of what would happen upon my acceptance, what would become of me. I felt so isolated and alone, and I had nowhere to go.

It hurt to think that mom probably didn't even notice that I was gone, and if she did, she probably just assumed that I was out, losing even more of myself to strangers, to people I would never know or see again, slowly killing myself a little bit at a time. She had tried to talk sense into me once, tried to get me to think about my life, to try to accomplish something, but I was so angry, I just didn't want to listen. She had tears in her eyes, but so did I, and I couldn't stop them when I told her that she had no idea who I was.

She didn't talk to me for months after that, and somewhere along the way, I stole off, unable to live under her scrutinizing gaze that condemned me and expressed a pity for me, as if I were some limp animal, unable to defend myself and constantly on the verge of death.

Perhaps that was how I lived my life.

But living so dangerously, that was the only way I could feel anything. Pain I felt, broken bones and cuts and bruises I felt. I could feel sorrow and anger. But I couldn't respond to kindness or love or happiness. I didn't know what to do with them. I had never been able to do anything with them.

I was an actress. It came with my broken past, a lesson I needed to learn to be able to adapt. I couldn't show my weaknesses. I had every illusion of stability, even though, when no one else could see, I was fragile and so very close to breaking apart.

I was overconfident because I overcompensated for everything in me that made me so frail. I was patchwork and barely stitched together, but I could hold myself together as best I could. It was adequate, even if it still hurt. As long as it all remained my own, I could live with it.

I couldn't get to sleep that night. I ended up sitting on the edge of the bed, just staring down at my hands, at my twisted pinky finger, at the scars and calluses, the broken nails and stiff joints.

When the alarm did go off, pushed myself up off the mattress, shoving my wallet into the back pocket of my jeans and headed out, pulling the hood of my baggy sweatshirt up over my head. No doubt my eyes were blood shot and ringed in black, and every inch of skin felt over sensitive and my muscles ached from lack of rest.

I ran through the numbers of pi as I walked to the nearest convenience store, having left my bike back at the shipyard. I wasn't adverse to the walk; the chilled morning air rasped my lungs, filling them, stretching and cooling them, and my muscles started to wake up. Hell, I was a farm girl. I was fit, built well, dare I say. I could take anyone in a fight. At least, I always held my own.

I didn't need to buy much, and I had just enough to pay for it.

Again in the bathroom, I took to finally fixing my hair, getting the back far shorter, getting the sides proper. I tried to remember what my brother's hair looked like. I laughed when I could barely remember. I laughed as my hand shook.

I ran some gel through the strands, and then mussed it up, trying not to look like I was working to too hard. I never cared what my hair looked like before. I didn't think now was the time to start. But when I saw the result in the mirror, I was proud of myself. I could get this to work yet.

I took care of a few other things, then collapsed onto the bed, tired out of my mind. I was so exhausted that I barely got up when my alarm blared, indicating that it was some time around eleven. I shot up and off the bed, trying to get everything together as quickly as I could, packing up everything and heading out the door, anxious for the final mile that would take me to Starfleet and the end to my freedom, and _me_, because now I had to become someone else.

The transport was quick and Leonard was significantly calmer, which eased my nerves. He was telling me something about his daughter, how he was barely going to be able to see her now, I and felt a tug in my heart for him, and was instantly reminded of my brother. I wouldn't have been able to let Starfleet take from my brother what they would take from McCoy; the entire childhood of his own daughter.

He asked me why I was here.

I told him I got drafted. He scoffed, and wished it had been that simple for him. I smiled, telling him that it was far less simple than he thought, explaining, vaguely about my brother, and my mother, my father's death. His eyes widened and it seemed as if he finally figured something out.

Sitting back against the seat again, he told me that he remembered learning about the _Kelvin_, about my father, and what he had done. I felt so worthless in his shadow, but I tamped that flicker out. Leonard looked at me, with a half smile and a hand on my shoulder, but didn't say anything else. I didn't know what to say in response. I closed my eyes and slid a little further in the seat, smiling a little wider, and a little less forged, and he scoffed again and took another swig from his flask, offering it to me again. I took it, and another swig of the bourbon, the feeling sliding down my throat, burning and it made me feel real again. I handed the flask back.

I could really get to like this guy. He was the closest I'd ever had to a friend in my entire life.

I stared ahead at the campus sprawling ahead, backlit by a sun that didn't seem to shine in Iowa. There was something about San Francisco, about getting the chance to start all over, that made it seem brighter here. Maybe this is what would help me figure out what the Hell I should be doing with myself, with everything I've been given and wasted.

In spite of myself, I felt excited, though I dampened the outward expression of it, and just rested my head back against the headrest, letting my eyes close for the last twenty minutes.

Everything else could wait for a little while. I just wanted these last few moments for the _real_ me, for the girl I'd leave behind in here. I hoped that all the baggage I carried with her would stay here, but I knew it was foolish to expect that. And she would always be a part of me, and I couldn't truly leave her behind, just, I couldn't _be_ her. Not anymore.

When the transport came to a stop, I got out, this time not nearly cracking my head open and stepped onto campus, not taking a look back as I shouldered my bag and headed for the admissions office to get sorted through.

The sun burned my eyes, but it reached inside of me and get me hope, and I took it all in.


	3. Accomidation

The room was bigger than I would have anticipated.

I was alone at the moment, and I threw my bag onto the floor and collapsed onto the bed on the right, looking up at the ceiling. I could hear talking out the window, footsteps on the hallways, heavy and garish. Sun filtered in through the half drawn curtains, casting a bright yellow glow into the room, though the edges were still blurred in darkness.

Even half-shrouded in shadow, the room had an air of optimism for me, and I took it all in, let it fill me up until everything was ready to burst.

This was a brand new start. It was is if I could move past my previous twenty-five years, as if I could take everything and do something with it. With everything I had been blessed with, as mom always complained, I had wasted it on petty crime, drinking and fighting. When she would get calls from the police station late at night, she would cry as she drove me home, asking me why I was so stupid if I was so smart? She would ask me if I was trying to spite her. She'd ask me if I was trying to embarrass her.

She asked me why I wasn't like Sam.

That was the one question that always got me to break down, and I would cry all night after that, long after mom had gone to bed.

She should have known that I could never be like Sam. Sam's birthday wasn't the anniversary of her husband's death, wasn't the anniversary of his father's death. Every year until I was eleven, mom wouldn't celebrate my birthday. Not a present crossed my hands, not even a half-hearted sentiment or card. She forbid Sam from doing anything for me. She didn't want us to be happy when she was so upset.

When I was twelve, she apologized, and she would make me a cake, but she'd always give me a party weeks after my birthday had passed. After I turned sixteen, she would only celebrate my birthday if she was around, and she rarely was. Between the ages of sixteen and twenty-five I only had four parties.

Sam always had a party, at least until he moved out when he was seventeen. He had everything I had never gotten. She put effort into his parties, she was always smiling, and everyone from our neighborhood and all his friends were invited. It always broke my heart, and I never stayed downstairs to watch.

She had never given me the chance to be like Sam.

She bragged about him to her friends. She rarely ever mentioned me. She was always so disappointed in me; that I didn't have any friends, that I didn't act like all the other kids my age, why I didn't like what everyone else did, why I stayed home all the time. She loved the grades I brought home, but she loved Sam's girlfriends and commendations and awards more, and I was always brushed aside.

When Sam moved out when I was eleven years old, I was without anyone. After Sam jumped ship to get out of the house and as far away from our broken mother and family as he could, mom stopped staying home regularly, taking jobs that had her travelling most of the time, and she always called our closest neighbor to come over and make sure I kept out of trouble. When I turned sixteen, she stopped calling people to watch me as if she were embarrassed of me.

When she was home, I was always getting into trouble, getting arrested the only way she would pay attention to me, but it was a horrific catch-22. The more trouble I got myself into, the more she would pay attention to me, but then when she would leave, she'd stay away longer.

I knew she couldn't take the direction my life was heading towards. I knew it broke her heart to see me that way. I knew it hurt her more than it hurt me that day she took me to the hospital two days after she got back because I had broken my arm in a fight. I knew she felt guiltier than I did when she had to bail me out of the county jail after I got caught trying to steal alcohol from a liquor store not twenty minutes from our house. When Uncle Frank moved into our farmhouse when he thought he'd be able to teach me a lesson, I knew it broke her heart when I drove my father's car off the edge of that canyon.

She always looked at me with those sad, broken blue eyes, a dull copy of my own, dimmed by years of sorrow and disappointment. And every time she brought me to the hospital, bailed me out of jail, met with the principal of the high school, she would shake her head and ask me the same thing: Why can't you be like your brother?

And I never answered her. I always just looked out the window of the car, refusing to meet her gaze. I knew she was crying, I could hear her sobbing, even if she didn't think I could. But I would never let her see me cry.

And I could never understand why she couldn't love me like she did my brother.

Even after I got into college, a better university than the one Sam had gone too. Even after I graduated a year and a half early. Nothing I could do would make her love me, could make her wish me happy birthday on my actual birthday, or see me or how much I hurt.

I didn't want to get caught crying, so I pushed myself off the mattress and started unpacking what little I had brought with me and the uniforms I had been supplied with. I had spent quite a bit on them, and was really starting to run low on money, but I had seen a bar just outside of the campus where I could probably hustle some money at pool. I sighed, hearing my mother's disapproving voice in my head, and slammed a drawer shut.

Just then, the door opened and someone walked in, hands held up defensively, a half-amused, half-cautious smile spread across his face.

"Hey, man. Should I come 'round later?" His heavy Southern accent, thicker than Leonard's, made me smile.

"No, it's okay. Drawer was stuck. I just persuaded it." I joked, and he laughed and walked in a little further, dropping his stuff on the side of the room that I hadn't claimed. I kicked my bag under the bed, having finished putting everything away and leaving a few things inside he shouldn't see. "Jim Kirk." I said then, holding out my hand. He took it and I couldn't believe how weak his handshake was. I smiled inwardly at that.

"Gary Mitchell." He responded and I broke the handshake, watching him shake his hand and rub it gently. "Damn your grip is strong." He said, laughing. I responded in kind before answering.

"Grew up on a farm."

"Figured." Gary replied, laughter still in his voice. "Where you from, farm boy?"

"Iowa." I answered, following Gary with my eyes as he unpacked, making a huge mess.

"_Iowa_?" He asked, turning around to stare at me. "What the _Hell _is there in Iowa?"

"Nothin'. Why do you think I'm here?"

Gary chuckled at that. I tried to smile more convincingly, but thinking about Iowa, about my _home_, really upset me. I ran my fingers through my hair roughly, snagging a knot, and the sharp pain ripped me away from reminiscing.

"Where are you from?" I asked haphazardly, trying to further the conversation from revolving around me.

"Eldman." He commented over his shoulder, digging through his belongings for something. I couldn't quite remember where that was, so I refrained from saying something about it.

"Hey, I was thinking about hitting up that bar later tonight. You want to come along?" I asked after a few moments of amused silence, just listening to him talk to himself about whatever it was he was searching for.

"Yeah, sure." He answered, though he was distracted, and I couldn't be sure if he even knew what I had asked. He was still looking through his stuff.

"Seriously, what the Hell are you looking for?" I quipped, finally fed up with the pathetic way he was making a huge mess of the entire room.

"This little box, you know, wrapped in blue paper." He answered, trying to convey the size of it to me with his hands. I just shook my head and laughed, pointing to the bathroom. God knows how it ended up there, but it made me laugh. You always lose the things in plain sight mom said to me once. "Thanks." He said, quickly retrieving it and ripping it open.

I walked up and peered over his shoulder and he laughed and shoved me back.

"Hey, what is it?" I asked sheepishly, a lopsided grin on my face. I saw it briefly in the mirror, and I smiled a little more; I hadn't seen myself smile in a while.

"Pictures of my girlfriend." Gary said defensively.

"_Oh_?" I commented, knowing what he meant. I playfully tried to look over his shoulder again and he laughed, shutting the box.

"Am I going to have to lock this away?" Gary asked mockingly.

"You just might." I replied. I took a look at the clock. It was starting to get late and I knew all the bar hounds with all the money and the alcoholics would be there now. Perfect crowd. "You want to head out?" Gary nodded and we left the dorm complex, managing to catch a couple of girls with a car on their way out. I had more luck charming them into letting us hitch a ride and I knew Gary was jealous and I laughed. He just didn't know that I had an advantage; I knew what to say for a woman to give in.

Turned out they were going to the same bar we were and the brunette behind the wheel drove fast and I loved it, though it seemed to make Gary a little uncomfortable and I nudged him mockingly a few times he started to look real green. Thankfully he waited until we got to the bar before throwing up into a dumpster and I laughed as I escorted the two girls into the bar.

I was right about the crowd. There were too many potential victims and I couldn't help but smile. The girls slipped away to get something to drink and I headed towards the billiard tables, and before I could even say a word, one guy asked to play me and I looked at him, feigning incredulity with a cocked eyebrow.

"What? Me? I'm not too good at this." I said laughing. "But sure."

The guy threw a five on the edge of the table and I looked at him, pretending to be nervous. I threw down a five of my own and played a game that was believably bad. I played a few of his friends and ended up losing almost everything I had brought with me.

Just then, six or seven guys walked into the bar and headed over towards the guy that I had lost to. They exchanged a few looks and laughed, looking over to me every once in a while. I only caught parts of the conversation, one of my favorite things to hear being the comment that I was an easy game and I wasn't afraid to bet, even after having lost. This was working far too perfectly.

The guy came over and I talked big, getting an amused smile from the guy I lost to earlier. I tried to play off like I hadn't lost the last four games and bet one hundred dollars that I could beat the new guy. A few people nearly spit their drinks from trying not to laugh at me and the new guy agreed. A few other people put money down, just wanting to embarrass me, or try to call my bluff. I continued my act and by the time we set up the game, somewhere around three hundred dollars was on that table.

I let myself pretend to act a little nervous and excused myself to get a drink, thankfully finding Gary by the bar.

"Hey, do me a favor?" I whispered, leaning in close.

"What? You want me to bail you out?" When I looked at him confused, he continued. "I've been watching you play. Man, you suck." I laughed at that.

"Actually, I was wondering if you would accompany me. I've been hustling these guys and I want you to pocket the money as soon as I win and run. I know there's going to be a fight and I don't want to lose my earnings." I explained with a laugh in a muted voice.

"I knew there was a reason I liked you. You have a death wish, don't you?"

"Probably. So will you do it?"

"Sure. It'd be more fun than sitting here watching." Gary answered, laughing and pushing himself up off the bar.

"Alright, guys. Ready?" I asked, picking up a cue.

It didn't take long for the people I played before to realized what game I was playing, and I signaled Gary to come over and he started to pocket the money secretly and soon I sank the last ball and won the game without even trying. The guy I played paled, then flushed in anger, and strangely enough, the first punch he threw was at the guy who told him to play me. For a minute I didn't know what to do with myself, but then the other's that realized what I'd played them for finally threw a punch in my direction. Gary had already snuck off, laughing all the way, and I fought off one or two of the drunken idiots before managing to squirrel away.

I found Gary standing outside, holding his sides.

"Man, that was one Hell of a fight. That guy that caught you square in the jaw, holy _shit_!"

I rubbed that spot, having just been reminded of the wound after blocking it out. I locked and unlocked my jaw, moving it side to side. It wasn't broken. Good start.

"I know. But let's get the Hell out of here before they chase me all the way back to campus."

The whole ride back Gary eyed me with jealousy, having gotten another girl to give us a ride back.

"How do you _do _that? You're like… catnip for women or something!" Gary remarked in a hushed tone from the backseat. I couldn't help but laugh and the blonde driving looked at me then Gary suspiciously. I leaned over and whispered something meaningless in her ear and tried not to laugh when she swerved the car slightly in shock and when Gary shot me the most unbelievable look that screamed 'teach me how to do that!'.

I sat back in the seat and again watched the campus, brightly lit, coming up in front of us.


	4. Medical Attention

When I woke up the next morning, my entire jaw was stiff, and once I found myself in front of the mirror in the bathroom, I was met with the most glorious bruise I had ever seen, nearly black and horrifically sensitive.

I shut and locked the bathroom door, taking a shower, careful to avoid even grazing the purple mottling on my jaw and cheek. Despite being as careful as possible, it still throbbed and ached, and the water striking it never the less couldn't have helped. At least it was scalding hot and numbed the skin for a while.

Stepping out from the shower, I got myself ready hurriedly. I ran gel through my hair quickly, having perfected that already, if due to nothing but muscle memory. The binding was also easier, and thank God I was flexible enough to pull this off. I wished that the uniforms weren't so tight fitting, but nothing had ever been easy and now wouldn't have been the time for it to start being so.

I checked my watch. Classes started in an hour. I sighed heavily, wondering if the infirmary was even open this early. As much as I tried to think that the bruise was just as innocent as it seemed, the soreness and tenderness of it worried me a little. I had gotten in more than my fair share of fights in my lifetime, losing just as many as I'd won, but I always knew when an injury was better checked. I'd never taken a hit like that to my jaw before; usually my opponents were too drunk to swing that high, but that wasn't the case yesterday.

Gary was still out cold, sprawled across the top of his bed. If I had gauged his alcohol intake correctly from last night, he'd be in for one Hell of a rude awakening. I laughed to myself and left the room, careful not to let the door slam when I exited and took a left out the building. Having memorized the map on the transport on the way I absent-mindedly headed in the direction of the medical building, to which the infirmary was attached.

Surprisingly, it was open and I walked up to the front counter, a nurse in pale blue scrub pants and a delicately decorated top smiled up at me with piercing green eyes and I smiled back, taking the clipboard and heading over to one of the chairs, not missing the way she stared at me as I fell into the chair carelessly, and with a practiced grace.

The form was the same; name, date, insurance, cause of injury. Nothing I hadn't seen too many times before, and wondered if I should write the complete truth on the form or leave the major details behind the wound out. I opted for the latter and handing the form back to the nurse, barely listening to whatever she had said, the dull ache taking precedence in my mind, but I nodded and smiled, taking my seat again, waiting to be seen.

With no one else in the entire room, I had expected this to go quicker, but I still sat there, waiting on the upside of about twenty minutes, quite impatiently, as was just my nature. After ten minutes of annoyed fidgeting, I got up, crossing the room to the nurse, chatting her up until finally, another nurse, shorter and more intense than the girl I'd had the pleasure to talk with, walked through the door to the left of the counter and led me to an examination room, eying my bruise with a sort of distaste that reminded me of my mother.

I hopped up onto the examination table, watching her walk out with a leer. She had wide hips, something I had always been jealous of. I tried to stifle a laugh when she rolled her eyes, but I didn't fight the smile.

"Doctor." Her voice was even, though with an annoyed tone that I couldn't help but be proud of. Women like her were always the most fun to flirt with; they always fought a little harder. It kept things interesting.

"I'm on my way. Hold your horses, woman." That familiar deep tone, tinged with the slightest accent brought a new smile to my face. "Holy shit, Jim. What happened?" Leonard asked when he walked into the room, setting some things down on the counter before coming up on my side, pulling a pair of gloves on and falling into the chair in front of me.

"Bar fight." I replied honestly, but Leonard looked at me with a cocked eyebrow, silently questioning my answer. "Well, I hustled a few guys. Weren't so happy about that." I indulged. The corners of Leonard's eyes crinkled as he laughed at me.

"Figured you to be the type." He commented, still smiling, as he glanced down at the form I had filled out earlier. "So what brings you here?" He asked, full in professional mode now.

"The bruise. It wasn't so bad yesterday, but it's darker today, and the whole area is tender." I explained, having had way too much practice in relating my injuries to doctors. Leonard scanned the area and took some readings, and excused himself afterwards to review them.

Sitting in the room, I reflected on the fact that the more I moved my jaw, the more it hurt, and not long after Bones left, I could taste a little blood on my tongue and I groaned. Great way to make a first impression: with a broken jaw. I couldn't think how it could be broken; I was still able to talk and move it. Maybe it wasn't so serious.

"So, it's a really small fracture, but it's there." Leonard stated as he walked back in, a needle amongst other things in his hand. I eyed the hypospray cautiously, having still a terrible aversion to the device. Leonard noticed my discomfort and laughed. "I could perform the procedure without it, but I really don't recommend it." I nodded in weak acquiescence, and he jabbed the thing into my neck before I even knew what the Hell was going on. I asked him what it was, sort of slurred and he didn't even get the chance to answer before I blacked out. I was only aware of the smile on his face before I was unconscious.

When I woke up, the edges of my vision were still a little blurry and my mind was slightly fuzzy, but the pain in my jaw was gone. I sat up, fighting the blood rush and dizzy feeling.

"Mornin' Sleeping beauty." That Southern tone mocked from somewhere to my left. I groggily looked over my shoulder at him.

"Jesus. Warn a guy next time." I commented, smiling. Leonard returned the gesture before answering.

"And take the fun out of that look on your face? Never." Leonard peeled his gloves off and tossed them in the biohazard bin before facing me again. "You'll be free to leave in a few, once I'm sure you'll be able to walk without falling over yourself."

I scoffed at his statement and he pushed my shoulder and I nearly toppled over.

"Okay. I see your point." I responded then, after having caught myself, steadying myself back on the table. Leonard checked my irises and a few other things before deeming me safe to 'let me loose on the masses,' as he put it and he walked with me though the hall. Just as I was about to leave the building, he called to me.

"Hey, next time I see ya, it better not because you got into another fight, you hear?"

"You got it." I answered, fake saluting him with two fingers. I turned and headed out, but not before sending another glance in the way of that nurse from earlier. She rolled her eyes again and I laughed and headed out toward my first class, surprised I was still on the early side.

Most of the classes passed quickly, not much being said or done. Half of them consisted of introductions to the material, the assignment lists and syllabi and such, and I fought to keep myself awake.

Sometime around midday I got a message from Gary, full of swears and other colorful language. Thankfully I had been between classes as I listened to him recount his 'morning,' all the way through from his waking up and finding out he had missed three classes to the point where, scrambling, he tripped over the stuff he hadn't put away, nearly cracking his head on his dresser. By the end of his rant, I could barely breathe and he started cursing at me for laughing, but I couldn't help it. I shut the link after a few more minutes, making sure that Gary would be okay. I told him if he felt light-headed to head to the infirmary, and to head to the commissary and mix some limejuice and sugar in water and that would probably help with the hangover. He didn't really think it would work, but I couldn't help the smug feeling and smile that crept across my face when he messaged me back about a half an hour later to begrudgingly thank me for the advice, but not before commenting that I've probably had more than enough experience in dealing with hangovers to know what did and didn't work. I didn't argue.

I walked slowly to my last class. The chronometer read three fifty eight and I had exactly two minutes to get to the right building, the right room and find a seat. I really couldn't care, so I continued along leisurely. That nurse I had flirted with this morning spotted me and we talked for a bit, and I ended up getting her number. She was a cute girl, but her name was too mature for her; she didn't look like Bethany. When I asked her about the other nurse, her face fell slightly, but she forced up a smile.

"Who? Christine? She can be a little rough, but she's a nice girl." Beth looked down at her shoes before meeting my gaze again. "She's just really into her work. She takes it too seriously sometimes." Beth shut her mouth then, her lips tightening into a straight line. I knew she felt a little scorned. I figured I had nothing to lose and walked her to her class, which seemed to brighten her face a little.

By the time I actually got to the right building I was ten minutes late. I sauntered in, still not even caring that I was late. I had misjudged this class however, as more than eighty percent of the students inside the large lecture hall were scrambling to jot down everything that was being said. The professor's voice rang through the hall with an amazing clarity, loud, deep and commanding. If I could admit it to myself, it was damn sexy, but I couldn't admit that and I took a seat in the back, dropping into the chair heavily, listening intently though I really didn't really invest too much attention.

The student next to me just glared at me. It made me feel out of place in that room. That very look is the same one I've been living with for years.

'You don't belong here.' That look of scorn that only made it obvious that I didn't really fit in anywhere. That angry look. It pierced me. He couldn't know that I didn't need to take notes to remember this. I had a fantastic memory. Hell, I was a _genius_. I've been tested. It's a fact. But he couldn't know that, and he just looked at me like you would look at a prostitute on the side of the road, a beggar on a street corner, that lonely man in the bar far too drunk too care he was crying too loud. Like how you would look at that man in the universe who had thrown away everything because responsibility and effort and meaning had no reign on his life. Someone like me.

I knew I couldn't fit in, but I had hoped it would have at least taken longer than the first day for everyone to realize that was true. I had come here expecting everything to be different. I shouldn't have let myself hope that.

I looked away from him, turning to face the front of the hall, trying to focus on what was being said, but I couldn't hear anything but that tortured voice inside of me that just always ripped me to shreds, that voice that made me feel so useless and unworthy, an amalgam of every police officer, doctor, teacher, principal and neighbor that swore me off as a waste of my mother's time and money. All I could see were all the faces of everyone I've ever known, all the same expression; a mix of embarrassment, shame, anger, hurt. They always ended up the same.

"Is that him?" Came the whisper from somewhere to my right.

"Yeah. At least, I'm almost one hundred percent sure."

I tried to tune out the girls' insipid gossip, one thing, even as a woman, I could not understand the need to spread meaningless rumors and half-truths. It probably didn't help that when I was in high school, I was at the brunt of most of the rumors, what with my propensity for fighting and drinking and my rather 'loose' restrictions on sex. What they didn't know what that I barely slept with half the people I was claimed to have done it with, and the one rumor about how I begged the football captain to sleep with my always hurt, because not only was it a lie, but he raped me not long after that rumor started.

I had spend nearly all the money I had saved up since I was eleven to pay for the medication to prevent a pregnancy. I never told my mother what had happened.

I had to force myself to concentrate again, successfully fighting back the shiver that ran along my spine and the tears from welling up.

Trying to actually pay attention to this class was a moot point by now and I stood up, heading towards the door, trying not to think about the slight pause in the lecturer's voice at my departure. I know it's rude, and I didn't really make an effort to be quiet, but I couldn't sit in here anymore. I had the text back at the room. Reading through it would be sufficient, much more so than just wasting my time in here.

Instead of heading back to the dorms, I made a direct course to the infirmary, catching Leonard on his way out.

"Hey Bones." I called, jogging up to him. He turned to me and laughed, his eyebrows knitting in confusion while his eyes glittered with amusement. I realized what I had called him, but didn't want to take it back. I liked the way it sounded. He stopped in his tracks, and I slowed down and met with him.

"How was the first day?" He asked as we walked side by side.

"Could have been worse." Bones, I really liked that, laughed at the comment.

"So what happened?"

"I ended up being late to my last class." I caught his gaze and smiled. "I got caught up by Beth." I said, elbowing him. He eyed me.

"She never even says a word to me." Leonard exclaimed, laughing. "But that Christine, she's a hard worker. Smart girl."

"Ironic. Because Christine won't even _look_ at me." I said with amusement. Bones just shook his head.

"Where are you headed?"

"Nowhere." I replied, shrugging my shoulders.

"Well then, let's go get something to eat." Leonard offered and I followed along willingly, glad to have the company of someone who hasn't yet seen the mess I am.

I ended up picking absently at my food for five minutes before Leonard said something.

"You concerned about something?" He inquired, a little concern in his tone.

"No. I'm fine. Just thinking." I didn't really want to explain the way that kid's look wrenched me, how inane gossip nearly resurfaced my worst memory. I sighed a little and picked at the lettuce again before falling back in my seat, uninterested.

"Sure." Bones said incredulously. He might be just as stubborn to get the truth out of me as I was to hold it in. The more time I spent with him, the more I wanted, maybe even _needed_, to spend with him. He was some sort of anchor for me, an outlet. I really wanted to be able to trust him and be able to tell him everything. But I couldn't. At least, not yet.

"It's just been a long day." I said cautiously, slowly, not wanting to let any emotion leak into my voice. Bones studied me for a bit, but relented. I silently thanked him for it.

"So what class did were you late for?"

"Some linguistics class." I said, honest to God, not really remembering. I couldn't think about the class without everything else coming up, so I tamped down what I allowed myself to recall. "I ended up walking out early too."

Leonard nearly spit his food out then, his eyes wide.

"Who was the professor?" He asked pointedly, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

"I don't know, why?" I shot back, curious as to the intensity to which he was responding to my actions regarding that class in particular.

"If you walked out on the guy I think you did, you've got some balls, kid." Leonard replied before going back to eating. I pulled out a P.A.D.D. and searched around the network for my schedule.

"Spock?" I inquired looking up to see Leonard drop his fork.

"You are _not_ going to make it through that class now."

"I think I can make it." I quipped, a wide grin on my face. "There's no such thing as a no-win scenario." I pointed out, and Bones' just shook his head, laughing.


	5. Trepidation

"Jim! Jim, Jesus, _wake up_!"

Something was shaking me. I couldn't see and my throat was closing up. My chest felt like it caved in on itself and my eyes snapped open, but I couldn't focus on anything. My arms and legs felt numb, heavy, as if they didn't belong to me. I couldn't move them, and I didn't try. I couldn't feel them.

Hands were wrapped around my shoulders, that same weak grip. Gary. He was shaking me. I couldn't get my eyes to focus. I kept trying. My breathing was shallow. I tried to suck in a deeper breath, but my throat burned horribly and my chest fought the expansion, and I choked the air back out.

Every inch of my skin was tingling, just shy of numb where it hurt so badly and I couldn't think about anything but the way every time my body quivered, I ached and a dull pain roared over the entire surface of my skin.

Oh God. Oh God.

A panic attack.

I haven't had one in so long.

Blood rushed from my head to my arms and legs. I could feel it. Everything suddenly became warmer and I clenched my hands into fists and grabbed Gary's wrists and pulled his hands off my shoulders. He backed away and I released him.

Sitting up, I ran my hands through my hair and over my face, my entire body still thrumming in the aftershock.

"God. Are you alright?" Gary asked, obviously shaken. He carded his fingers nervously through his hair and sat on the edge of my bed only a few inches away from me, as if anticipating a relapse or something.

"I'm fine. Thanks." I responded, my voice hoarse. "Sorry about that." I mumbled absently.

"What happened?" He questioned, pressing me for an answer. I could tell he was alarmed, but the worry in his voice eased me. He was concerned for me. "I mean, I heard you _choking_ or coughing, like you couldn't _breathe_." Gary explained, his voice rushed. I looked at him then, making sure he was okay. He saw the look in my eyes and smiled, resting a hand on my shoulder, reassuring me. "Then when I tried to wake you up, you didn't respond. It was like you were catatonic or something. I was just about to call a doctor when you woke up."

I didn't say anything to that, instead opting to tear my glance away to focus on a spot in the carpet in front of me. I rang my hands and tried to steady my breathing as my heart finally started to slow down.

"Are you sure you're alright?" He pressed.

"I'll be fine." My voice started to fade. I tried to clear my throat, but nothing happened. "It was just a panic attack. I used to get them a lot when I was younger." I continued, even as my voice started to give out.

Gary just sat there for a minute or too, studying me intently, as if he didn't take my word for it that I was okay. That in and of itself made me feel better. I smiled at him, and he returned a worried smile of his own. He squeezed my shoulder gently before getting up.

"Get some rest. And it's two in the morning. Cut that crap out." He joked, sliding back under the sheets of his own bed. I smiled a little wider. But I couldn't fall back asleep. I was afraid of what would greet me if I did, so I slipped out of bed, grabbing a P.A.D.D. off of the dresser and collapsed nearly silently into one of the chairs in the room. Gary rolled over in his bed, and my attention snapped in his direction briefly, but he was just tossing in his sleep and I turned my focus back to the P.A.D.D., still feeling a little guilty that my nightmare had woken him up and gotten him so worked up and concerned.

I felt entirely on edge, and if I had let myself go, I would be fidgeting and shaking, but I couldn't let myself be so weak. A nightmare was nothing but a bad dream. I repeated those words in my head again and again, hoping that I would eventually be able to believe them. It wasn't working, and my heart started to speed up, so I pulled up the text for the class I had skipped yesterday, deciding to read the material, hoping that coming to class today more than adequately prepared may make amends for my behavior. I couldn't be sure how the professor would take the snub, the disrespect I showed yesterday, but I couldn't risk having a panic attack in the middle of class, even if the chance was slim.

I was disappointed that I hadn't been in the lecture after reading through two hundred pages of the text. The material, while interesting, was flat. And whatever was discussed, I missed, and missed out on. Xenolinguistics was an intense course, while, not something I couldn't handle, the information that stemmed outside the language was best learned outside of a textbook, as words on a screen are lifeless and impartial, while lecturers usually have fascinating things to remark on, points of interest, varying pronunciations as well as the differences between the formal and informal that the text skims over for the sake of time. The slang and informal side of language is where all the character was. I checked through the assignment lists, attempting to see exactly what language had been covered yesterday, relieved that, thankfully, it was merely discussion on the points of discerning dialects, though with a few examples I probably would regret having missed later.

By the time I had finished reading through the rest of the text, which was shockingly short for such an inclusive class, which only meant that was done to discourage skipping, as I had done yesterday, I realized that I had barely an hour to get ready and get to class, so I rushed across the room to the bathroom.

When I exited, Gary was just waking up, lethargically sitting up in bed, rubbing his eyes and yawning. When he saw me on my way out, his eyes almost bugged out of his head.

"Whoa. What time is it?"

"Six forty seven." I replied as I grabbed my bag, throwing the P.A.D.D. inside of it, along with my keys.

"Oh, thank god." Gary replied, falling back on the mattress. "I thought I had overslept again."

I laughed a little, then stood up and headed toward the door.

"Hey." Gary called. I turned around as he sat back up, his eyes locking with mine. "Don't freak out in the middle of class, okay?" He joked, though there was genuine concern under the tone. "I won't be there to snap you out of it." He followed, smiling.

"Promise." I swore, with all the fake dramatics I could muster before hitting the button on the wall, sliding the door open.

I ran into Beth on my way to my first class and ended up walking her to class again. The way the morning sun fell on her loosely curled hair turned the chocolate color the faintest red, and I was hard not to admire the auburn shade, the way it made her eyes seem even more emerald toned than usual. When she caught me staring, I said that to her, and a healthy blush colored her cheeks, and I couldn't help but smile.

She was reluctant to go to her class once we finally got there, but I joked with her, and promised to see her later, a promise I wasn't sure I'd be able to keep, but she didn't seem to mind the falter in the oath and waved goodbye timidly before disappearing into the biology wing, leaving me to actually go to class.

Other than the first class, I managed not to be late to any others, and when four o'clock rolled around, I was seated in the Xenolinguistics class, much closer to the front, trying to distance myself from the inevitable conversations of the type of person usually sitting in the far reaches of the hall; of the girls who gossiped and those few who fell asleep, who, while hysterical to watch, were distracting. The _idea_ of gossip made my heart race slightly, my body reliving a nightmare my mind refused to acknowledge, but I fought back the tremors, clenching my right hand into a tight fist, hoping the feel of my fingernails digging into my palm would keep me from falling back into reminiscing.

Class started not long after that, and though I continually fought back my dream, I was mostly invested in the class. I couldn't expect the professor to notice that I hadn't walked out again, nor could I expect him to take interest that, ironically, I was the only student in the entire room that actually knew what was going on, with the exception of one female cadet, far up in the front, who was far more proficient than I was.

When she and the professor started arguing over a section of the text, I couldn't hide the smile when I saw that she seemed to get the upper hand in the argument. She was nothing if not passionate, and it was fascinating to follow the banter back and forth.

Over the course of the dispute, however, I didn't miss the way a few of the girls behind me scoffed. Their voices dropped to whispers, but I could still hear them clearly.

"Everyone knows already. Is she trying to broadcast it?"

"I know. I mean, even a _blind_ man could see the sexual tension there." The girl's friend chimed, her airy voice, which normally would have been so attractive, was darkened and made heavy with the insult and ridicule in her tone. The two of them laughed lightly, and a third girl joined the conversation. I leaned forward, hoping even the minute distance might drown out their catty banter.

When the class ended, those girls continued their conversation as they walked out, every once in a while, one of them laughing at something which, to the ears of the girl they were slandering, would have been extremely hurtful. The words that fell from their lips brought back too many unwanted memories, and I stayed behind, waiting for them to make it a considerable distance away before I left the room, because I could feel the blood boiling in my veins, I could feel the panic at the edge of my mind.

I took a deep breath.

What the Hell? I thought I was past this. I shook my head and stormed out of the room, not missing the way the girl from the front of the class had hung back like I had, but with a look of admiration, respect, and dare I say it, affection, in her dark eyes.

I smirked on my way out of the hall.

"Hey."

I didn't register the address until a hand connected with my shoulder, shaking me a little. I looked up then, tearing my mind back from wherever it had been, glancing at my shoulder, then over it to the man whom I dared to think of as a friend. If he had any good sense, he'd run. But for the time being, I smiled.

"Yeah?"

"You feeling okay?"

I eyed him suspiciously for a few seconds.

"Yes." I started, hesitantly, and still a little confused. "Why?"

"Well, I heard you had a panic attack this morning." Bones answered, just as hesitantly, as if he was concerned I'd be angry that he knew. He looked like he was about ready to step back quickly.

"Well, good thing Gary can keep a secret." I replied off-handedly, trying to brush it off. Too bad Bones was too stubborn to let it go.

"He was concerned." Leonard stated sternly, turning me so that I was facing him, a strong grip on both my upper arms. I tried to struggle out of the grip, but gave up quickly, knowing he meant well. "And so am I." Leonard continued, letting go and dropping his hands to his sides. "He said you weren't breathing. Should I take you down to the infirmary?"

"Do I look blue?" I joked.

"Do I not look serious?"

Bones' tone jarred me. There was almost a fatherly tone to it, worried, _genuinely_ worried. I've never heard that tone before. I'd never had a real father. Frank was the closest I had to one, Sam just one below, and neither one of them stayed in my life long enough to make a difference, to save me. I looked away from Leonard, not wanting to see the look in his eyes. What was there was something I couldn't handle.

Neither one of us said anything for a while, and we just continued along in silence for a bit.

"I'm not going to force anything out of you." I jumped, though I don't think he noticed, and if he did, he didn't remark on it. "But you can trust me, you know." Those words made my lower lip quiver slightly, and I bit down on the betraying flesh quickly to stifle the movement. I was stronger than that, wasn't I?

"Thanks." I choked out after a while. I don't know if he heard the crack in my voice, but I _felt _it and I tried to force the emotion down. "That means a lot."

A quirky half-smile twisted Bones' lips then, and he rested a hand on my shoulder, a gesture I had never found so comforting until Leonard did it. It felt as if some weight had melted off my shoulders then, as if Atlas was given, even temporarily, reprieve. I felt lighter.

I felt guilty.

I wanted to shrug the hand off. Coming here was a penance, payment for everything I've taken, every life I'd destroyed. It hurt to think that, but I couldn't feel any other way. That's how it always was; the hurtful things were always easier to believe, and after a while, you start to think them true.

I don't know when I started to feel this way, but I had my cross to bear and I didn't deserve to rest its weight on anyone else, especially someone like Leonard. My smile faded from my face slightly and I shouldered my burden again, looking Leonard square in the eyes, hoping he didn't see the war breaking out behind the blue.

I knew he saw. It reflected in his hazel eyes. I had never seen myself mirrored; I had never seen that pain in my eyes this way before. My jaw trembled slightly, and I clamped my jaw tight.

But Leonard didn't give up on me and walk away. He stood there, unmoving. It was numbing, and yet sensitizing at the same time. Standing here under his scrutiny made me somehow feel worthwhile.

"I know what it's like to be lost." He said then. "I've been jaded for a long time. I know what it's like, Jim."

A genuine smile reached my eyes, even if it couldn't reach my face. That pain, that horrid shadow I had cast over those hazel eyes, evaporated into the air then, and it lifted another weight off of me.

The hurt was still there, it would always be, but it didn't seem to have as much gravity anymore, as if Leonard had somehow taken some of it from me.

I headed back to my dorm then, having said goodbye. Bones watched me cautiously as I walked away, I could feel his gaze on me, waiting, just in case I broke down and broke apart, but I held myself together, if more for his sake than my own. He didn't need this burden on his shoulders.

Gary eyed me nervously when I walked into the room.

"Don't worry about it." I spoke before he could even get a word out. Gary sighed, nearly inaudible, and there was a tentative smile on his face. "I'm alright." I affirmed, tired of being treated like I was so fragile. "I'm okay."

"I'm glad. I actually _need_ my sleep."

I couldn't stop the chuckle as I sat down in one of the chairs, looking through and completing a few assignments before Gary rolled over in bed, telling me, more like begging me, to 'shut the damn light' because it must have been some time around two thirty in the morning and Gary sure as Hell wouldn't be lucid enough at six to wake me up, he threatened.

I shook my head, laughing lightly before shutting off the light and slipping under the sheets. For a while, my mind was too active, and I traced the ceiling with images, faces, tears, words, numbers, dates, pain, horror. As a lone tear, the only one I could allow, slid down my cheek, my eyes fell shut heavily.

My sleep was less fitful, but my dream no less horrific.


	6. Nightmare

Warning: Rape is mentioned. If that bothers you, please don't read.

* * *

"Did you hear about that Kirk girl?"

"What? No. I must have missed it. I skipped first period. What?"

"I heard that she waited after the football game to talk to the quarter back."

"_No_."

"_Yes_."

Faint, breezy voices drifted through the air, opaque, like smoke, wrapping around my throat. I walked down the hall, hugging myself tightly, so ashamed and sick. Everyone's eyes were on me, watching me, _studying_ me, waiting for me to do something, or say something.

I averted my eyes, staring at my worn out shoes as I passed down the corridor. I heard the whispers, the voices, the fake concern, the ridicule, the scorn. The girls' voices rang through me, echoed through me, ripping me on the inside, twisting me. They didn't know what happened. They never would.

I was so ashamed.

I felt so _wrong_, so violated, used, and broken. When I shivered, I heard another wave a laughter, malicious, a roar in my deafened ears.

When his voice clamped around me, tight and heavy, I could only hear him, the awful words, derogatory, hateful, _disgusting_, and they made my entire body ache. His voice made every bruise, every open cut, throb and I bit my sore lip to hold back the sob, but I couldn't reign in the tears.

I was paraded all the way down the hall, lined on both sides by everyone who could fit, everyone who wanted to _see_, even the people I called my friends. They wanted to see my bruised and broken lip, cracked, and it bled a little if I opened my mouth too wide. They wanted to see the mottling around my wrists, all black and purple and so sore, and one person grabbed my wrist as I walked by, and I bit my tongue to trap the scream in my throat. They wanted to see that I had finally been put in my place.

No one knew what happened. Except for himself and I, no one would ever know. He threatened me when I was lying there bleeding that if I even breathed a word about this, he would hurt me so badly that I wouldn't ever be able to talk.

I was humbled in the hardest way.

Every fight I'd gotten in, every broken bone, black eye, split lip, none of it hurt as much as this did. This humiliation, the attack, and the fact that no one can ever know what had happened, that no one would ever be able to see the wound, to mend it, to kiss the scar and dull the ache. They would never know how I spent every last credit I had to get into town and buy that medication that prevented conception, because I didn't want to bring a child into this world that way. I don't think I'd ever be able to love that child the way it deserved, and the world didn't need another one of me, broken and unloved.

He followed me down the hall after a while, close enough that I could feel him, but far enough away that he couldn't touch me, his cruel voice behind me, slandering me to his friends, an awful laughter in his voice. None of his teammates could know that it was he who did this to me, that it was his hands that bruised me. That it was he who violated me, left me bleeding and hurting, broken and so afraid.

He left me somewhere I couldn't recognize. I didn't know in which direction my house was. I wasn't in Riverside, and I was scared. I trembled, wrapping myself in the dirtied sheets, trying to keep my body warm which felt _so cold_. I couldn't stop shaking. I couldn't stop crying. My skin crawled, it didn't feel like it should have, it didn't feel clean; it didn't feel like it was mine. My throat was sore, aching, my sobbing voice hoarse.

Every inch of skin felt so cold, every inch but where bruises flowered on my skin, a horrific violet color I had never before hated and feared so much. Each hipbone felt as if hard fingers had reached them and broken them in. It hurt to move, and I couldn't even curl up on my side for the pain that surged.

I couldn't even think of what he had done to me. Every thought in that direction flared a hot, scalding white, pushed me away, tried to protect me, if even for a little while. I ceded, but I knew I'd have to face it. That scared me. It scared me that I could never take this back or forget it. I'd never be absolved. I'd never be justified. And I'd live with this the rest of my life.

No one could ever know.

I could never be able to stand up on my own.

If they knew, it would only be harder to.

His hand fell on my shoulder. I felt my eyes grow wide, every image flashing before the irises, and I collapsed to my knees. He laughed. Said whoever had broken me had done quite a number. I resisted the urge to accuse him, to stand up to him. I was so afraid of what he could do to me. I tried to push myself up, but his girlfriend pushed me, and I fell to the floor.

The morning alarm rang, and the other students scattered, heading to their first period and I just laid there on the floor until the principal found me and dragged me to his office for skipping, calling my mother. I could hear her disappointed tone over the phone as she asked me 'why,' and I felt bitter, angry tears in my eyes, stinging like acid as they rolled down my cheeks, so flushed in humiliation. I wiped them away as I was escorted to class.

I sat through eight periods of ridicule, whispers, and jokes.

Everyone couldn't get over how I was acting, so covered up and humble. They didn't know that under the long sleeves I was hiding bruises and bite marks. When I fell asleep in fourth period, they laughed as I was yelled at, woken up with the instructor's shrill voice in my ear as she called the principal again. They didn't know it was because I had taken so many painkillers that morning so I wouldn't be able to feel that part of me he abused the worst.

When I passed out in gym, after I had popped a few more pills, I couldn't help but remember the mockery and scorn I saw as I collapsed.

The nurse's office was cold, the only room in the building to be air-conditioned. It made me remember. It brought back everything, brought it up, and my mind, in regurgitating it, ripped me open.

He had told me during the day that after the game he wanted to see me. I waited, and he told me he loved me. I stupidly believed him, believed his promises, those false, arrogant lies.

But he broke those promises. He brought me somewhere so far from home, to a run-down hotel, dirty and unkempt, and I was nervous, but for all the wrong reasons. He gave me something to calm me down. How could I have been so stupid?

And when it was over, as he was leaving, the most awful look of concern was on his face, a mixture of his worry that I would tell and that somehow I was catatonic. I wish I had fallen comatose. I wish I could have just drowned it out. But I couldn't find solace in that awful look or the lied words of a failed apology that battered my ears, that regret that was so absurd, so fallacious, so _late_. I knew he meant none of it, he never would.

Lying on the unforgiving cot in the nurse's office, it felt so alike to him. So like last night. I started crying and thrashing. I felt hands on my skin and I screamed, sitting up, trying to fight them off. When my vision cleared, the nurse was backing away from me, frightened, and students were looking in the window, amused and astonished and waiting for more.

I pushed by the nurse, escaping out into the hall. I ran for the exit, trying to wipe away the tears that wouldn't stop falling.

The doors flew open in front of me, and the sky ripped open and cold rain fell on my face, mixed with the tears. The front entrance was lined again, everyone standing side by side, hands outstretched, their fingers brushing my arms, vaguely grabbing my hair, my clothing, as I passed.

A tall figure stood at the gate. I ran to him unthinkingly, running into those outstretched arms, begging him, please, to save me. His hands were warm, they reached inside of me. I held onto him tightly, but he reached too deep and pulled me apart. I asked him why, but his Southern tone held no comfort. He changed, so cold and those hands reached deeper. Another broken promise.

Hands reached for my core, grabbed it, palmed it and ripped it out, and everyone could see how broken it was, bruised and beaten. I reached for it, but my fingertips were just short and I screamed for it back. He said he had to keep it, his voice warming up again, but tainted and so wrong.

I needed it back. I couldn't let it go. I begged, but he wouldn't relent. Please.

His eyes locked with mine.

I backed away, turning, facing everyone with their faces stretched into grimaces, staring me down with eyes black with hatred and contempt.

You don't belong here.

Please.

Someone.

Please.

But no one came. I fell to the floor, lying there, as rain fell, drowning me. But it wasn't rain. It was every ounce of pain, it was everyone's contempt, my mother's broken heart, my father's stolen life, my brother's abandonment, Frank's disappointment and those hands that violated me and broke me and ripped me open.

It fell harder and harder, falling into me, filling me until I could feel it pour out of every wound, keeping them open and I scream, but was muffled by the thunder of my mother's voice, the lightning of my bruised mind.

My body was numb.

I scream until my voice gives out, leaving it open in a perpetual silent cry.

I was so scared.

Please.

Someone.

Someone save me.

Please.


	7. Understanding

I nursed the drink in my hand, straight whiskey, powerful and burning as it slid down my throat. It warmed me in spite of the pain, and it numbed everything that hurt, everything I remembered and wished to have forgotten. It made the tiredness behind my eyes fade, replaced the horrid pain with an alcoholic indifference, an overreaching apathy that drowned it all out for a while.

It pushed the nightmare away, it pushed the pain that still aches inside me, a low throbbing remembrance that tainted everything. Even now, I can still feel the way those fingers gauged into me, reaching into me and breaking me from the inside out. I can still hear his raged breath, his horrible words, my awful screams, nearly muted, that begged him to stop.

I threw back the rest of the drink then, letting the amber alcohol wash down my throat and help me forget.

It was still early; I had retreated here not long after class, not acknowledging anyone I knew, not stopping to see Leonard or check-in with Gary. It's been three hours since classes let out, and I'm still here. My communicator rang incessantly for a while, vibrating like mad over the course of a half an hour, but I wasn't ready to answer the calls, to listen to concerned voices from people who could never know what happened.

I slammed the glass on the table.

I couldn't believe that I was still afraid, but I couldn't shake it. My body would never let me forget and my shattered psyche could never stop the pain, the memories. I was just fragile enough to be afraid to put myself together and move on, just broken enough that I couldn't do it even if I tried.

He broke me in.

I tried, God, did I try to fix myself, tear myself away from this. But he didn't leave enough of my whole. I was in too many pieces that I couldn't see what belonged where, and my edges were all ragged and open, and they dug into every part of me and never let me forget. The sharp, jagged edges never let the wounds stay closed, and I never had absolution, never had someone who wanted to put me back together.

Nobody wanted what he had left behind, what a broken woman I had become, so overcompensating for what he had stolen. There are scars he left behind that no one dared to touch, as if afraid I would drag them down with me and engulf them in my pain.

I never let someone get that close again.

I couldn't. It hurt too much to try to trust myself to someone's promises. As much as I wanted and needed it, I wasn't able to let someone get close enough, too afraid of being hurt, of them seeing my scars and leaving me. I couldn't stand to be used and let go. I didn't need any more pieces.

Another drink was set before me. I stared at it absently, watching the light glimmer though the amber liquid, casting strange and beautiful shards on the bar top, a shining dance of color.

I looked around quickly, suddenly not so absorbed in my drink. I wasn't even sure when so many other cadets had shown up. The entire tavern was packed, loud and noisy, the music barely able to be heard over the thrum of voices and laughter. People were here with friends and dates, and I was alone, as I always was. But that was just how it needed to be.

A woman approached the bar then, her long dark hair loose along her back, silky smooth. She was still in the cadet uniform, though without the jacket and the crimson turtleneck molded to the curves of her body. Her voice was smooth, beautiful and as I listened, I recognized the tone. She ordered quite a few drinks before stopping to wait for the bartender to fill the order.

"That's a lot of drinks for one woman." I commented, trying to force everything else out of my mind. It helped that the whiskey dulled everything so well. Too well. I leaned forward over the barstool to get a better look at her around the man who sat in between us.

She eyed me suspiciously, and I fought back the urge to smile at her.

"And a shot of Jack, straight up." She called to the bartender, ignoring me completely. A challenge. Always more fun.

"Make that two, her shot's on me."

"Her shot's on _her_." She shot back. "Thanks but no thanks." She added with a condescending smile and a slight shake of her head.

"Do you want to at least _know_ my name before you completely _reject_ me." I offered, with a slight fake hurt. She put her hands up in front of her defensively, that smile still on her face.

"I'm fine without it." She replied then, shooting me down. I laughed a little at that. She had personality, feisty and beautifully and so sure of herself, confident and whole and something I wished I could be. I didn't have my uniform on then, and I'm glad. I couldn't wear it with the same grace and purpose as she did.

"You _are_ fine without it." I answered, grinning slightly. She looked at me disapprovingly with her warm brown eyes before looking away. "It's Jim. Jim Kirk." I said then, leaning over the bar to study her, her eyes intensely studying the countertop in front of me, more than likely hoping that I would give up. But this was a game I loved to play. "If you don't tell me your name, I'm going to have to make one up." I continued, watching a sly smile spread across her lips as I spoke. She may not particularly like me, but at least I got her to smile, even if it was at my expense. There was a brief moment of silence before she finally broke it.

"It's Uhura." She ceded, looking at me over her shoulder, lips pressed tightly as if avoiding the urge to smile.

"Uhura? No way. That's the name I was going to make up for ya." I got an eye roll from the man sitting between us. "Uhura what?"

She laughed once condescendingly, with a wide smile.

"Just Uhura."

I continued to look over at her.

"They don't have last names in your world?" I questioned, feigning seriousness.

"Uhura _is_ my last name."

"Then they don't have…" I started, but the alcohol rushing through my veins in the place of blood stalled me a little. I caught the right word and continued. "_First_ names in your world?"

She laughed at me then and I grabbed my drink, walking over to lean against the bar by her side.

"So you're a cadet, you're _studying_. What's your focus?"

"Xenolinguistics." She stated curtly, not looking at me. She turned her head then as she addressed me. "You have no idea what that means."

"The study of alien languages, morphology, phonology, syntax." I responded smoothly, not intending to inform her that I was in her class. "Means you got a talented tongue." I added onto the end, with a smile. She smiled back, still facing me.

"I'm impressed." She looked me once over before continuing. "For a moment there I thought you were just a dumb hick who only has sex with farm animals."

"Well, not _only_." I joked. She laughed as another few cadets, also still in uniform, walked up to us.

"This townie isn't bothering ya, right?" The gruff, nearly bald man asked Uhura, not even looking in my direction.

"Oh, beyond belief!" She responded, turning around to gather the drinks the bartender was placing in front of her. He looked at me then. "But it's nothing I can't handle." She finished, turning back around to face the brusque cadet.

"You could handle me, that's an invitation." I stated as she took a sip of her drink.

"Hey!" The cadet spoke up then, eying me down angrily. "You better mind your manners."

"Oh, relax Cupcake, it was a _joke_." I said, slapping him on the shoulder half-heartedly before turning back to the bar.

"Hey, farm boy." He said angrily, fisting his hand in my jacket as he forced me around to face him. "Maybe you _can't count_, but there are four of us and one of you." This guy really shouldn't raise his voice. I resisted the urge to subconsciously wipe the spit from my face before answering.

"So get some more guys, and then it will be an even fight." I said, getting right in his face. I backed up after that, patting him on the cheek derogatorily before turning around. He grabbed my arm, however, and swinging me around, punched me right in the jaw, the blow folding me over the counter. I tried to recover from the shock and prayed the blow didn't re-fracture the bone.

"Guys, stop it." Uhura forced.

I really didn't intend to fight this guy. He wasn't worth my time. But he grabbed my wrist as I turned myself to face him, that same look gleaming in his eye as the quarter back, the need to dominate and break and humiliate and ruin and I couldn't hold myself back, all too ready to take out my pain, even if it was on the wrong person, at least that could make it go away, if even for a moment. He coiled his arm back to punch me again and kicked him in the solar plexus, sending him flying back onto a bar table, knocking it and himself to the floor.

"Stop it!" Uhura shouted, her voice hard.

One of his friends came at me then, and I blocked him.

The alcohol that had helped me not too long ago backfired now, changing all of their faces to his, to the quarter back's, to his teammates with their ridicule and I needed to take it out on them, needed them to see that it was all _his fault _that I was so messed up now, that if they _knew_ I could heal. I needed to beat that into them. But I was frenzied and not thinking clearly, and one of the cadets held me back while the other laid into me, hard, his fists heavy and I was defenseless and if it weren't for the anger bubbling in my veins, I would have trembled, would have cried, as images of _him_ hovering over me, holding me down and assaulting me flashed in front of me. If it weren't for the pain of the punches, I would be able to feel him ripping me open, forcing himself on me as I begged him to stop.

I got free somehow and broke a bottle over the cadet's head, though I imagined _him_ as I did it, trying to help the vision of me, protect myself from that monster, but I was already too late.

"Enough!" Uhura called as they started to gang up on me again. I fell to the floor, my adrenaline high starting to wear off and the pain of eight years of isolation and fear and having no where to turn rose up inside of me, making my knees weak and my body nearly unresponsive.

One of the cadets hauled me off of the floor by my jacket however and threw me onto a table, laying a few punches into my face.

"Guys, he's had enough!" Uhura called desperately as a whistle echoed through the room. Everyone stalled, even the cadet with his hand fisted in my collar and everyone turned to see where the sound had come from.

A man in a black Starfleet uniform stood in the doorway, and the cadet holding me dropped me onto the table. I couldn't even focus on what was being said, my mind was hazy, fading and I was having trouble breathing. I started to wheeze slightly, a pain rushing through my chest as I tried to breathe startled me, but the blood in my mouth, running into my throat, choked off my words.

"Outside. All of you. _Now_." The man commanded and everyone in a cadet's uniform rushed out. "Are you alright, son?" The man asked, watching me. I still couldn't talk around the blood in my mouth and I still couldn't breathe. He contacted someone, though I wasn't sure what was being said as my frantic heartbeat filled my ears. He introduced himself as Captain Pike before my consciousness started to fade out.

I was next aware of hands on me and a deafening siren that was dulling as we sped forward. Those hands, warm and calloused went for the hem of my shirt and I panicked.

Please. Please don't touch me. Please.

I thrashed, grabbing onto those wrists, but I still couldn't speak. My mouth dropped open, but I couldn't form the words and my vision was still impaired, but I begged with my eyes and repeated the words inside my head over and over again.

The hands in my grip struggled, but I refused to let them go. I couldn't. They couldn't touch me, please, he needed to stop. Couldn't he hear me begging? Please. Why are you doing this?

I found my voice, but it was weak and hoarse and nearly silent and I begged. Please. Please stop. Don't hurt me again.

My vision started to clear but I could only see _him_, _his_ face over mine, a terrible look in his eyes, angry and possessed, full of hatred and contempt and the need to break me and feel me from the inside, see what made me and rip it apart so that no one would ever want it. The hands escaped my grip and my heart skipped a beat and I tried to curl up, but I was partially restrained, and my mind raced, nonsense pouring out of my mouth, inaudible, repeating please please don't please _please_.

Nothing touched me then. My muscles still tightened reflexively, attempting to steel myself, afraid of what was coming. Broken promises. Please.

I was carried into a sterile room all white and too bright on my bloodshot eyes and the smell of medical supplied rushed into my lungs and the smell nearly made me throw up. Hands were on me again, and I fought them off, but they were patient and with intent, they waited, dropping me into a false sense of security before touching me again.

I couldn't stop fighting, delirious as I was, as tired and scared as I was, I couldn't just let him. Please stop please don't hurt me please.

Those hands stilled again, but a voice accompanied them, soft and concerned. Concern. No please. Please.

"Jim." The voice was distant, accented, it wasn't _his_. No. "Jim, can you hear me?"

I trembled. I could hear him. My mouth wasn't working and my vision faded to black again. I laid on that bed, still, unmoving, my unfocused eyes staring straight up, seeing nothing but the faint swirling memories, reduced to vibrant colors and feelings of ripping and tearing and sounds of screams.

The voice continued to address me, even as I became unresponsive, silent and unhearing. My heart rate was sky rocketing, my breathing sporadic and occasionally deep in spite of the pain that raged.

Whenever my eyelids started to close, the voice became more intense, urged me to stay conscious, and I focused on the sound, trying to pull myself away from the sleep that I wished I could lose myself in, even though I feared the dreams.

After a while, my heart found it's rhythm again, my breathing, though shallow was regular, and the faintest tendrils of the world started to cross in front of my eyes. I locked my gaze onto the blurry figure to my left, slowly coming into focus.

He asks me to sit up, offering me his hand but I avoided it, pushing myself up with difficulty as a migraine ripped through my head as I sat upright. My vision wouldn't clear. I tried to fight through the murkiness, to no avail. The headache continued to ravage my brain and there was a faint ringing in my ears.

He leans closer, flashes a light in my eyes that seemed to burn my retinas, and sat back a little less tense than he had before. He asked me a few questions, but I was finding it hard to focus, to keep awake.

"Jim. Can you hear me?"

"Yes." I mumbled, or slurred, or perhaps something in between.

"Are you alright? What happened?" He pressed. I knew his hazel eyes were looking into my own but I couldn't focus onto them. I didn't say anything to him, just watching his movements closely, with as much hawk-like attention as I could muster with such foggy vision. He tentatively reached his fingers out, pressing the tips into the skin, feeling around my ribcage. I knew he could have used the technology, but he preferred 'good old fashioned medicine' as he once said to me in passing. When those fingers found a sore spot, I arched back away from the touch.

He then scanned the area and checked the data.

"You have a few cracked ribs and one of them is broken." He informed me. He sat down again and sighed, glancing down at the P.A.D.D. in his hands. "Can you remove your shirt so that I can fix them for you?" He asked. I shot away from him quickly. "Jim." He pressed worriedly.

No please. Please.

Leonard's face was gone. I could see nothing but _him_. No please. Don't.

I tried to get away, but backed into pillows and a wall and my heart started to race.

"Jim, it's me. Are you alright?" Bones' voice was laced with something short of panic, but no less intense.

I couldn't focus again.

"Jim. Tell me what's going on."

"Please."

"Please what?"

"Please don't."

"_Jim_."

His hands were on me, gentle, not cold and hard. They didn't touch me with the intent to break, to bruise, to command.

"Bones?"

"Yeah, Jim. Yeah."

"Bones." My eyes tried to focus again. The haze was clearing, I could see Leonard. _He_ was not there. The tenseness in my body started to give way, a dull ache passing over the stressed muscles.

"How long have you been like this?" Bones asked. I didn't say anything. I was afraid to answer. "Jim. Talk to me. You can trust me."

"I can't. I can't."

"Why?"

"It'll only hurt more."

"Jim. Nothing's going to happen to you. What's wrong?"

"I can't, Bones. It…" My breathing started to shallow out as I panicked.

"Jim. I need to repair those ribs." Leonard forced, coming up on me urgently. My vision of him ruptured.

No. Please. Don't touch me.

Bones backed up fractionally.

Please don't promise those things to me. Why did I trust you? Why did you do this to me?

"Jim. Nothing's going to happen."

I snapped back to reality fully, my mind forcing me out of my memories. My heart stopped momentarily, my breath halted before returning to my lungs in a gasp, the sound hoarse.

"Bones, I'm sorry." I choked out, trying to discern the look on his face, afraid that I had come out of this too late and he _knew_.

"Jim, are you alright?"

"Yeah. My chest hurts. But other than that."

"No. Mentally. Jim, are you alright?" Leonard urged, an edge to his tone.

"What?"

"What happened to you?" I could only look at him wearily as I fought to maintain consciousness. "Jim, if I know anything, I could swear you have posttraumatic stress. Jim, are you alright?" He repeated, emphasizing each word, as if he was still worried I might not be hearing him.

"Bones. I… I don't want to talk about it. It happened so long ago."

"It doesn't matter, Jim. If it's still there, it's just as important now as it was then." Bones stopped talking then, stepping back. "I'm sorry, Jim. I'm just a little worried. I don't want to invade your privacy."

"I was sexually assaulted." I said suddenly. "I was seventeen."

Bones looked at me with saddened eyes. They marred the beautiful hazel color and I felt guilty. I felt guilty I put my burden on him, I felt guilty that I was so scared to say any more. I hated that I was still so afraid. I shut myself off. Bones didn't pry. He headed for the medical equipment.

"Wait." I shouted, nervous and scared, but none of it leaked into my voice, so passive and tired. "Wait, Bones, please. If I can trust you, I need to say something." I suddenly regret those words, afraid of what would come next. What if he betrayed me like everyone else I've ever trusted? I wouldn't be able to take it. What would they do to me? And they would take Sam. They couldn't have him. I was so scared they would take him. Bones watched me intently, but said nothing. My fingers were trembling. I reached under the back of my shirt, pulling apart the ties to the binder, careful to catch it under my arms to prevent it from falling. "Bones, please. Don't betray me." I begged, looking into his hazel eyes. I could see a few different emotions in his face, deep in those eyes; concern, confusion. I drew my knees up to my chest. "Bones, please understand that I needed to do this for Sam. I couldn't let the Draft ruin his life. He had everything I never could, and I was so lost already, and I loved him too much to let Starfleet take everything away."

"Jim, what are you talking about?"

"I changed the medical records the day after the draft came in. I hacked the computer systems and changed them so they wouldn't be able to know. So many people would never miss me; they wouldn't care if I disappeared. I had to become this to save my brother. Don't you understand?"

Bones just looked at me cautiously, unsure what to do with himself and the information.

I was shaking. My eyes darted quickly. I was so nervous and unfocused and afraid. I didn't know what to do, what to say. I was afraid I was ruining everything, all because I'm so broken. I can't do anything right. I've let everyone down again. I've let Sam down, my mother. I rested my head in my hands.

"Jim?" Bones asked, resting that hand on my shoulder. That comforting gesture that I didn't deserve. I didn't want anyone else to have to bear this. Leonard had enough in his life; he had his own problems, worries, concerns. Who was I to add to that? "Jim, it's alright." He reassured. "But I need to take a look at those ribs."

I nodded my head quickly, but again refused to remove my shirt.

"Bones. Please understand." I pleaded again as I peeled the blood stained fabric off of me. I tossed it to the floor and looked up at him, trying my best to still the trembling. He didn't say anything for a while. He didn't become hostile, he didn't abandon me, he didn't stare at me like _he_ had. Leonard's eyes were soft, and I could see him thinking, as if he wasn't quite sure he could understand what he was seeing. "You mind not staring? You're making me self-conscious." I joked, trying to ease the nervousness and jagged butterflies in my stomach.

"What? Oh. Sorry." Bones stated, startled. I laughed, and he shook his head, but laughed too. "So, can I patch you up now, or is there something else you need to say?" Bones quipped. My heart swelled when I heard that, every ounce of nervousness gone, even the pain melted away for a while. I couldn't believe that Bones was so calm, that he could just accept this.

"Bones." I said, though it was barely above a whisper. "Why are you acting like this? Aren't you upset?"

"Upset? Sure. I'm a doctor, and you're still in pain here." He looked up. He must have seen the conflict in my eyes. "Jim, uh, whatever, I don't know how you feel, but I think we were gettin' to be friends. Friends should trust each other. And what the Hell do I care what gender you are? It doesn't change much, it'll just get me to think twice before hitting you." He joked. I laughed a little. "I'm going to knock you out before I get started. You're not going to want to be awake." He stated professionally. He jabbed me in the neck shortly thereafter.

"What was that about thinking twice?" I whined, putting my hand onto my neck. I opened my mouth to say something else, but fell backwards onto the bed.

When I woke up, I was still a little sore, but I could breathe easier. I took a deep breath, though slowly, to test it, and was pleased. For being a fright with a needle, he was quite the excellent doctor otherwise, not that I would say anything, he didn't need the ego stroke. I smiled to myself as I thought that. What a strange friendship we had. I pushed myself up then, looking around the stark white room, dulled a little by the darkness as the lights were dimmed. I started to get up.

"Don't move."

"What the Hell?" I called, startled.

"I know you well enough. You need some rest to get over that concussion. Back in bed."

"Yes, mom." I joked, sliding back under the blankets. "You going to read to me?"

"Shut up Jim." Bones stuttered a little and walked out from the offices. "What do I call you now?" Bones asked, in all seriousness. I laughed, and he quirked an eyebrow.

"Well, just call me Jim." I answered. I opened my mouth, but shut it, swallowing the words. I just felt like I could trust him and didn't need to say it.

"Don't worry. I won't say anything." Bones confirmed anyway. I smiled widely. "Now get some rest, or I'll get another hypo out, just for you."

My eyes widened and I pretended to settle under the blankets, peaking over the hem with faked timidity. Leonard chuckled and walked off, and I passed out and for once in eight years, I didn't have a nightmare.


End file.
